


Until the Sun Comes Up

by ShowMeAHero



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Marvel
Genre: Angst, Cancer, Established Relationship, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-02 23:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5267636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just like Matt, Foggy didn’t want anyone to have to deal with what was going on; unlike Matt, Foggy couldn’t deal with this. He couldn’t survive this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until the Sun Comes Up

**Author's Note:**

> There's a fair blending of comics canon and show canon in here, with canon divergence at the end (obviously).
> 
> All the research was done by me. I did the best I could, but Ewing's sarcoma is not the cancer I have experience with.
> 
> Title taken from ["Afire Love" by Ed Sheeran](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JznXx1Ns374).

Matt Murdock could deal with just about anything. He was known to take a beating or two and keep on trucking. Actually, it was more like, he was known to get stabbed in the chest, socked in the face, and tossed out a window, and still roll into work the next day, excuse in hand, half-hearted smile on his face. Foggy hated to watch it on a good day, but, now, he kind of understood it. You deal with what you have to deal with. Just like Matt, Foggy didn’t want anyone to have to deal with what was going on; unlike Matt, Foggy couldn’t deal with this. He couldn’t survive this.

He should have thought ahead, to be honest. Matt had been acting a little different around him lately, brow furrowing when Foggy was close enough for Matt to smell him, to hear his bones moving, to hear the pulsing of his blood. Foggy joked about it until he knew what Matt was probably slowly noticing. He definitely noticed Foggy’s slight limp; so did Karen, though, and Foggy just waved it off, claiming a twisted ankle. Karen made him promise to go to the doctor if the ankle kept up like that. Matt just frowned.

Foggy didn’t talk to his mother anymore, and his father and his stepmother weren’t wealthy people, the majority of his family being butchers and bakers, as it were. He, Matt, and Karen were hardly even keeping Nelson & Murdock afloat. He and Matt barely made rent most of the time. He couldn’t afford to do anything; even if he could, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t do anything. He just had to wait for it to take him.

He knew Matt knew something was wrong. He knew when Foggy came home, probably smelling like a hospital, just to sit in the armchair for hours at a time, barely talking. Matt sat on the sofa, his face turned in Foggy’s direction. Foggy would drop his head into his hands, and Matt would rub his back, assuring him that he didn’t have to tell Matt what was going on if he didn’t want to, but Matt was worried, and, _you should take better care of yourself, Foggy,_ and, _are you eating enough, Foggy, you feel too thin,_ and, _Foggy, please._

Foggy told Karen first, when it came down to it. He knew that he owed Matt an explanation, but he was nothing if he wasn’t a chicken-shit at the best of times. Matt was the one the newspapers called the Man Without Fear; Foggy was just himself.

He brought Karen to Josie’s, got a shot for each of them, and took one of her hands. She started to cry before he even said anything.

“What is it?” Karen asked, her voice strong through the tears already streaming down over her cheeks. Her thumb rubbed circles into the back of Foggy’s hand. He looked down at their joined hands, finding them easier to tell than Karen’s worried, tearstained face.

“I’m dying,” Foggy said, and it felt like the first step to death, admitting out loud that he wasn’t going to make it. “It’s cancer. It’s called Ewing’s sarcoma. It’s bone cancer, it’s in my hip, there’s nothing we can do-”

“Foggy,” Karen interrupted, her voice catching sharply, and she dropped her forehead to his shoulder. He rubbed her back until she could breathe again. She grabbed at his shirt, clinging to him. He wanted to stay for her. He wanted to stay.

“It’s started to spread,” Foggy explained to her, when she had calmed down enough to ask questions and listen to the answers. Josie had taken one look at them and made a group of people in the back switch out their table so Foggy and Karen could sit there. Karen wouldn’t let go of him. Foggy understood. “They didn’t catch it in time. It’s starting to spread from my hip. They can’t stop it anymore.”

“How long?” Karen asked, her voice thick. Foggy lifted one shoulder.

“They don’t know. I can’t afford-”

“ _Foggy-_ ”

“Karen, don’t you dare,” Foggy cut her off, and Karen’s mouth snapped shut, her jaw set. “You know we can’t. It wouldn’t really matter, anyways. Just prolonging the inevitable.”

Karen remained silent for a long moment. “How long without it?”

“They’re going to try to take the tumor off my hip, I guess,” Foggy answered, absently fiddling with one of Karen’s bracelets. “That’s about all I can afford. Radiation - I can’t do radiation. I’m just going for surgery, and I’ve got antibiotics to try and prevent infections.”

“Are they sure?” Karen asked softly. Foggy trailed his fingers over her palms, over and over again. She stared at his face. He stared at her hands. He nodded.

“It’ll probably be a couple of months, if that,” Foggy eventually told her. “It’s- I forget the word they used. Metastasized, or something. It’s not just bone anymore, it’s going into my kidneys, starting to show up in my lungs. It’s not worth it.”

Karen scooted closer to him in the booth, letting her head rest on his shoulder. He could feel her matching her breathing to his. Her hand was wrapped around his wrist, feeling his heartbeat pulse under her fingertips. She was quiet, but only for a moment.

“What did Matt say?” she asked, and Foggy shook his head. “ _Foggy._ ”

“I can’t tell him,” Foggy said desperately. “I can’t do it.”

“He deserves to know, Foggy.”

“I know,” Foggy snapped. He blew out a breath and scrubbed a hand over his face, deflating instantly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t yell at you-”

“It’s fine-”

“Don’t treat me differently,” Foggy interrupted her. “Please. Call me an asshole or something for yelling at you. Just let me be normal for a little bit.”

Karen bit at her lip, then smiled a little at him. It was watery, but it was Karen. “You’re a dick. Don’t yell at me.”

“That’s my girl.” Foggy kissed the top of her head and handed her a paper napkin.

Karen wouldn’t let him drink more than two shots before she took him home. He could see her reluctance to leave him outside, and so he invited her in. If Matt was asleep, tough shit; if he was out fighting crime, then Foggy could only hope he wouldn’t tuck and roll through the window while Karen was standing there.

As luck would have it, Matt was tilted sideways on the sofa when Foggy unlocked the door to their apartment. He left his coat on the bench by the door and hung his keys up on the little key rack above it. Karen abandoned her coat, as well, before following Foggy into the apartment. She watched as he carefully arranged a quilt over Matt. It was no use; Matt was too light a sleeper, and too in tune with Foggy and Karen, not to notice their presence. He raised his head, rubbing at his face.

“What time is it?” Matt asked groggily, and Foggy made his way to the kitchen, digging for tea bags.

“Time to get your ass in bed,” Foggy replied. “Do we have tea bags?”

“Since when do you drink tea?” Matt stood from the sofa, cracking his shoulders and his neck. Karen visibly flinched. Foggy frowned and continued searching the cabinets.

“Since they’re calming and Karen’s a little worked up,” Foggy answered. He finally unearthed the tea bags he had gotten with a coupon more than a couple of weeks ago. “Aha! Karen, these good?”

Karen nodded as Matt asked, “What’s wrong, Karen?”

Karen glanced at Foggy, her eyes wet. He shook his head, and Karen pressed her hand over her mouth. Foggy turned on the faucet to drown out any little noises she might be making that Matt could most definitely hear.

Matt strode over to him, snapping off the faucet. He stared in Foggy’s direction for a second before turning to face Karen again.

“Karen,” he said firmly, and a sob burst out of Karen. Matt’s expression crumpled instantly, and he made his way to Karen, pulling her into his arms, stroking her hair. She looked over his shoulder at Foggy, frozen at the sink.

“Karen, what’s going on? Are you in danger?” Matt asked quietly, his fingers still threading through her hair, all gentle movements and soft words. She shook her head, burrowing into his neck. “Karen, it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” she murmured wetly into his skin. “It’s not okay.”

“Please, tell me what’s going on,” Matt pleaded, voice hushed. “I want to help. Tell me what I can do to help.” Karen just shook her head roughly. Matt pulled away from her enough to face Foggy’s direction. “Foggy?”

“Sit down, Matt,” Foggy instructed. Karen took Matt’s hand and guided him back to the sofa. Foggy sat down on their low coffee table. He did with Matt as he did with Karen, taking his hand, playing with his fingers. He ran his fingertips over his ring. He blew out a sharp breath.

“Foggy.”

“Matt.” Foggy couldn’t bear to look up, even though he knew Matt wasn’t really looking at him. He couldn’t look into his eyes and tell him. He couldn’t see his face when he said it. He couldn’t. “Matt, I’m gonna die.”

Matt went statue-still. Foggy could see the gears turning in his head, piecing everything together. He shut his eyes for a moment before opening them again, their unfocused stare settling near Foggy’s mouth.

“Did someone threaten you?” Matt asked, and he sounded almost hopeful. A threat was something he could fix. Foggy shook his head.

“I just shook my head,” he informed him. “No, nobody threatened me. It’s called Ewing’s sarcoma-”

“No.”

“It’s spread to my-”

“ _No._ ”

“Matt-”

“Foggy, _no,_ ” Matt jerked into a standing position, dislodging Foggy and Karen both. He stalked away from them, closer to the window. He slammed his knee into the corner of the armchair, and he just melted to the floor and curled up on the spot, falling to his knees and pressing his forehead to his thighs. Foggy inched closer to him until he was near enough to kneel beside him and put an arm around him. Matt slumped over against Foggy, burying his face in Foggy’s shoulder.

“I’m not going to say it’ll be alright,” Foggy said softly, voice catching, throat thick, “because it’s not. It’s not going to be alright, but you’ll be okay, you know, after a while. You _will_ be alright.”

“Foggy,” Matt whispered, fingers digging into Foggy’s shirt. Karen scooted closer, crouching on Matt’s other side and rubbing his back in small circles while his breathing started to quicken.

“Matt, you have to calm down,” Karen insisted tearfully. Foggy grabbed Matt’s chin and raised his face until he could press their foreheads together.

“Relax,” Foggy instructed. “Breathe with me. Relax your muscles. Do that for me, Matty.”

“I can’t lose you,” Matt hiccupped, voice choked. Foggy stroked his thumb over Matt’s cheekbone, down his jawline, pressing the pad of it into Matt’s chin.

“You have me now,” Foggy said. Karen kissed the top of Matt’s head and ghosted away. Foggy turned slightly to see her grab her coat and her tea and slip out the door. Matt’s eyes slipped shut, his breathing starting to become matched with Foggy’s. “Matt-”

“Don’t say it’s going to be okay,” Matt said, “because it’s not. It’s not going to be okay-”

“Matt,” Foggy interrupted. “I know. I know it’s not going to be okay, alright? But you’ll get there. And I need to know that you’re going to get there, or-” Foggy stopped talking, swallowed roughly. He fell back on his haunches, palms scrubbing over his face. Matt’s hands reached out tentatively, calloused fingers wrapping around Foggy’s wrists. “I don’t want to die, Matt. I don’t.”

Matt tipped his head down, eyes unfocused and wet, mouth drawn down. He ran his thumbs over the backs of Foggy’s hands, over and over, running across the piano keys of his bones. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Matt was silent again. He wished he could see Foggy’s face, see his hands, see his eyes, how he stared at Matt,waiting for him to speak. He blew out a shaky breath.

“What do we do?” Matt asked, and Foggy shook his head.

“Nothing,” Foggy answered. “We just wait. It’s on my hips, in my kidneys, my lungs. They’re going to try to remove it from my hips soon. Next week. They gave me antibiotics to fight off infection. We can’t afford radiation.”

“Foggy-”

“We can’t, and you know we can’t.” Foggy turned his hands over underneath Matt’s, winding their fingers together. “It wouldn’t do anything except push it off, anyways. It wouldn’t save me, and I’d rather die knowing you’ll keep running the firm rather than die thinking you’re going to be homeless.”

“We can do something,” Matt said, softly, and Foggy hummed to himself.

“Yeah,” Foggy agreed. “Yeah, we can.” He ran his fingertip over one of Matt’s busted knuckles. “Just enjoy the time we have left.”

“ _Foggy-_ ”

“ _Matt._ ” Foggy inhaled shakily, then again, sharply. “We can’t do anything.”

Matt was quiet. Then, “How long?”

“A couple of months,” Foggy said. “If that. If the surgery works, if I don’t get an infection, if it doesn’t spread too fast.”

“I can’t lose you,” Matt repeated, and Foggy released one of his hands. He let his empty palm settle heavily on the back of Matt’s head, guiding his face up until they were a breath away from one another.

“I can’t lose you,” Foggy whispered, and Matt dropped his head to Foggy’s shoulder.

It all seemed to happen in a blur after that. Foggy got his surgery the next Tuesday, and they removed some of the tumor from his hip, but the best they could do was not enough to save him. It spread to his lymph nodes in the next days after that, then his liver by the end of the week. The bones of his legs were taken by it the next week after that, bone marrow sour and dying inside him. He couldn’t walk anymore, couldn’t stand. He laughed, told Matt what a pair they must make, the incapacitated and the blind, as Matt wheeled Foggy through the hospital hallways. Matt made himself smile.

Matt took Foggy out at nights, typically sneaking him out and wheeling him around, the two of them being normal. One night, Foggy asked if Matt could show him the city how Daredevil saw it. Matt affixed Foggy to his back as best as he could, told him to hold on, and took to the roofs, to the sky, and Foggy was breathless the whole time. He laughed and thanked Matt when they got back, even though Matt teased him. Foggy asked when they could do it again. Matt said anytime.

Foggy remained staunchly against radiation, his best bet of surviving, really his only chance. Matt tried to talk to the doctors, but they all agreed, Foggy would not make it long even with radiation, with how far it had spread. Foggy would not look at his face when Matt came back after that conversation. Matt took his hand and sat quietly next to him for hours.

“I love you,” Foggy said, all the time. “Don’t forget that, okay?”

“Okay,” Matt agreed, all the time. “I love you, too.”

Karen came to their apartment every day while Foggy was there, then to the hospital every day after he was moved. Claire made it a point to visit whenever she could, sneaking him puddings from the hospital cafeteria when she happened to pass by his room on her shifts. His mother visited him a grand total of twice. His dad and stepmother, more of a mother than his real one had ever been, came as often as they could. They cried a lot. It tended to make Foggy cry, and that made Matt cry. His sister, Candace, came with them, and sometimes on her own. She asked Matt to text her if anything happened, to keep her in the loop. They stayed as much as they could. Various family members sometimes came to visit - grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles. His sister brought his niece, and Foggy sat with the baby for hours, just telling her everything he could think to tell her. Karen recorded some of it. Candace wrote it all down.

“I’ll make sure she knows it all,” Candace promised him before she left that day. Matt was gingerly strapping the sleeping infant back into her baby carrier. Foggy couldn’t stop watching him. “I’ll make sure.”

“Thanks,” Foggy said, “I love you.” And Candace cried again before hugging him and leaving. Matt took his seat at Foggy’s side once more, picking up his hand as if on instinct, second nature to fall into this position by now.

“I’m sorry,” Foggy said, and Matt tipped his face up in his direction.

“What for?” Matt asked. Foggy leaned back against his pillows, the back half of the bed raised and propping him up. He could hardly do it so well himself anymore.

“That I can’t give you that,” Foggy said. “A life. I wish I could.” He exhaled. “I wanted to. I want to.”

They had already discussed this; Foggy had already gone through with semen cryopreservation, just in case Matt wanted to go through with the half-formed plans they had had from before. A baby with Foggy’s smile that Matt would raise all by himself. Karen still said she would keep up her offer. Foggy wanted to be there. Matt squeezed his hand.

“I know,” Matt said. “I know. I wish we could, too.”

It was only a couple of days after that that Foggy couldn’t leave his bed anymore. Matt stayed at his side at all times, bags under his eyes, trying not to sleep and lose minutes with him. He napped whenever Foggy got the chance to sleep. Claire brought them food when she had a spare moment during her shifts. Foggy barely ate. Matt picked at his food. Three days after that, one of Foggy’s lungs collapsed; his other lung started to underfunction, and he got put on a respirator. He was distinctly unhappy about it, too. Matt brought in his Perkins Brailler so Foggy could write him messages when he had the mask on and couldn’t speak. He wrote on his sister’s tablet for everyone else.

His liver failed that night. Matt had to sit outside the room and wait, again. Karen held his hand with one hand and texted Candace on Matt’s phone with the other. Matt was only let back in hours later. Another IV had been added to Foggy’s arm, dripping softly, and he looked white and exhausted. He rolled his head to look at Matt. He shook his head. Matt took his seat again.

His blood tests came back with an infection the next morning. Foggy just looked resigned as he had the results read to him. He leaned back and shut his eyes, and Matt squeezed his hand. His kidneys started to go only hours after that. Foggy pulled the mask off his face and grabbed Matt’s hands as tightly as he could, which was, in short, not very.

“I love you,” Foggy said, again. He was breathless, voice choked. Matt’s face crumpled. “Don’t forget that. Okay?”

“Okay,” Matt whispered, trying not to sound upset. Foggy’s cardiac monitor started to pick up speed, in time with the real heartbeat Matt could hear raging in his ears. “I love you, too.”

Foggy reached up and grasped at his face, fingers weak and slipping on his skin. Matt grabbed his wrist and held it to his face with one hand, using his other hand to feel along Foggy’s cheek, his jaw, his chin. He pressed his thumb under Foggy’s eye. Foggy’s kidneys failed. His cardiac monitor skyrocketed. Matt got pushed out of the way in seconds, and he went limply to the side, then out of the room.

The hospital morgue was silent as the grave and assaulting on Matt’s sensitive senses. The hospital itself was starting to grate on him without Foggy there to make it better. The cemetery was cold in December, snow stacking up on Matt’s shoulders as he tried to keep his face from freezing underneath his wet cheeks. Their apartment was the emptiest it had ever been, and Matt ripped it apart before falling onto the sofa, curling up into a ball, and falling asleep. He wished he would never wake up.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on Twitter at [@nicoIodeon](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


End file.
